On The Dark Side of the Moon
by PorridgeWomanEndings14
Summary: Lights so blinding, she smiles like a star. Faced with dark and silence, she weeps. A tale of love, instability, and just what happens on the hidden side of things.
1. Chapter 1

My father was a wizard, and my mother was what you call here in England Muggle. They separated when I was five, and my mother took me to live with her in France. I grew in a house in the Loire Valley, with a housekeeper named Maire, while my mother jetted across the world. Though Maire was pretty much the only person I talked to, I was content in my isolation.

But then I turned eleven and the bubble burst: I would have to go to school at my father's alma mater, Hogwarts. My mother, or rather, her lawyers (because really, I seriously doubt my mother would take much of any time out of her life to devote to me) fought tooth and nail, but I went.

I hated Hogwarts. I hated Scotland. I grew up in a place where it's warm year-round, and you can run around the vineyards and pluck grapes as you go. Basking in the sun was all I had ever known. Hogwarts was damp, with a chill so cold you could feel it in your bones. It rained and rained and rained, unless it decided to snow, and then it would ice over everything around.

The people were even worse. Now, I had known that my awkward stage came earlier than that of most, and I wasn't moving through it with grace, but I was always assured that at the end of it all, I would look like my mother. Possibly even better than. Here at Hogwarts I was teased for my looks. They didn't know who my mother was, or else I think they might have stopped. At the forefront of these games was Freddie Weasley, a sadistic bastard who thought everything was a laugh. His family carried much weight here in England, and so many were willing to lay down their lives for him.

Ravenclaws were too above it all to help me. Gryffindors abhorred me on principle. Whoever said Hufflepuffs were nice was horribly, horribly wrong. Those from my own House did not associate with me simply because my blood wasn't pure enough.

My English sucked. They teased me for it. I was clumsy. They laughed every time I fell. But the worst of it came in Potions. I was a very bright student, but Professor Slughorn hadn't bothered to learn my name when he started singing my praises. I was now Charles Martin, Potions genius. Freddie Weasley had a field day with it.

I suppose it was sometime around Halloween that I began my midnight walks around the castle. I would slip out of the Slytherin dormitories as everyone else slept, and walk around the Hogwarts castle. I explored the castle, every nook and cranny, and these hidden places became my havens. Sometime in mid-November, while I was on one of my walks, a boy walked out from the shadows and fell into step beside me. He was tall, like I was, and he had messy black hair, freckles, and kind brown eyes. I had seen him often with Freddie Weasley, and so when I saw him I flinched. But the blows I had anticipated never actually came. Instead he walked with. Plain and simple walking.

It became a nightly thing for us, the walks. Sometimes we would talk. He talked about his family and his father, and how Freddie just never really had a concept of boundaries, or that he knew he wasn't at all book smart but he wanted to play Quidditch when he grew up. I told him about Maire and my mother, and the Loire Valley and the mare that belonged to the neighboring farm was going to give birth, and the how the foal would be mine. He helped me refine my English. I taught him raunchy French words. In the daytime, he convinced Freddie to stop picking on me so much. I showed him the tips and tricks of Transfiguration. He tried to teach me the English Quidditch teams, while I tried to show him how to correctly say my name. We only spoke to one another at night, but for awhile those walks were my only hope.

While all of this was happening, my mother's lawyers had located one of my mother's associates, who also happened to be a witch. They asked her where she sent her children to school, and the associate said Beauxbatons. The rest is history.

I walked with the boy as usual, and went to sleep as usual. When my roommates woke up, my belongings were gone, and all that remained in the bed were sheets, folded neatly on a pile on the bed. I was already so far gone.

At Beauxbatons, there are three Maisons. These are Papillonlisse, Bellefeuille, and my own Ombrelune.

The purple butterfly of Papillonlisse are naturally gifted in the arts. They are very social people, and tend to focus on becoming better people instead of academics. Very introverted, they are romantics. Papillonlisse are well-liked by most everyone.

Bellefeuille, the five leaves, are very versed in nature and in outdoor activities. They tend to not be the best students, but are still willing to work hard. They are sensitive to the emotions to those around them, and are brave and loyal to their friends and family. Bellefeuille members are especially liked by students.

The final Maison is Ombrelune. Our banner is the dark smirking moon. We are _ambitieux et astucieux_, ambitious and cunning. We rarely show emotion, and tend to be very logical in our thinking. It is said that we strive for power above all else. The things we are most notorious for? Our manipulative natures and our complex and cruel revenge plots.

I think there is much more to us than that. While we don't tend to like dealing with emotions as a general rule (Evette is the only exception), and we tend to plot things, we are not all evil or nefarious or any such related adjectives. I think we here in Ombrelune want to be respected and appreciated more than anything. Really, I believe that's all any human wants; it's just that Ombrelunes have rather unorthodox methods with this.

I arrived at Beauxbatons in the middle of the night, was sorted and fitted for robes at about three in the morning. I received a schedule, and went to bed. In the process I woke up one of my dorm mates, my soon-to-be-best-friend Amalotte.

She peeked her head through the navy-and-black bed hangings, and I remember even then her eyes, lips, face gleamed in the dark. Amalotte offered to help me unpack my things. And then, for whatever reason, we were remarkably closer to each other than the other two girls. I still don't quite understand it.

Amandine and Evette du Toit, the daughters of my mother's associate and also fraternal twins, woke up at seven. It became obvious that Amandine was the leader, Evette was the drama queen, and Amalotte was the mediator of their bickerings. We became fast friends. While there were other girls around, we kept to ourselves. In typical Ombrelune fashion, we plotted. We swore that as soon as we swapped out our First Year berets for hats, we would be loved. It was extravagant, certainly, but we were Ombrelunes. The du Toits being who they were, and my being who I was, of course we would be gorgeous when the awkward stage was over. We had grown about two and a half feet in three years, so we knew it was almost over. Amalotte didn't have our background but we were sure she was like us.

And so we planned and plotted. From Christmastime all the way through August.

When September third rolled around, and we clacked into the entrance hall with hats on our heads and heels on our feet, no one knew who we were. From that day onward, we were known as the nice Ombrelunes. No one crossed us (because even if they show emotion, Ombrelunes were put in Ombrelune for a reason), but we were smart enough to be loved by teachers, and witty and fun enough to be loved by students.

In under a year, I had gone from being Charlie MartN (because that was how those stupid Brits pronounced my last name) to one of those girls. You know them, the ones that everyone knows and loves? It was quite a charade. It still amazes me that we were able to pul it all off.

But from time to time, especially when Amalotte and I were walking back from Dueling, I thought of the messy-haired boy with the warm brown eyes. I never really forgot him.

In case you were wondering, and I know you were, my name is Charlize Martin. Yes, I am the Charlize Martin. Yes, my mother was Anne-Sofie Martin, the famous Muggle supermodel. Yes, my best friends are the model Amandine du Toit, the actress Evette du Toit, and the orchestral director Amalotte Seguin. Yes, my friends can be very ostentatious with their titles. And yes, the boy with the messy hair was James Potter.

I'm telling this story because it needs to be told. You'll hear many variations on the story, and I think it's best you hear it from the source.

This a story of love, friendship, parenthood, and ideals that we and others set for ourselves. But most of all, it's the tale of the man who dared venture into those uncharted lands on the dark side of the moon.

A/N: New story! Yeah! I'm just going to say that I love this story and these characters more than any other story, and I think you will too. I've been working on this story for years now, and now I'm just putting it into HPFF. It's a good, fun, dramatic story; far less angsty than Fancie. Since I've resolved to write shorted Author Notes, this is all I'm going to type here.

Adios, mes amigos,

Simone


	2. Chapter 2: A Day in the Life

It was a day like any other. Amandine, Evette, Amalotte and I roused ourselves early, and began our morning ritual.

Makeup, dress, lace shoes, adjust hat, grab things, and go down to meet the day. We don't eat breakfast, we just go. I felt particularly brain-dead that day, as I had just come back from an exhausting day at a magazine photo-shoot. I knew it was a necessary step for my career, but they worked us hard.

And of course, today was the day I had Hypnosis, SDLD (sort of like your DADA, except far more dueling and some diplomacy lessons mixed in), and Transfiguration, all this morning, all back-to-back. Not for the first time, I wondered why I even took Hypnosis. I was the only student in the entire school who took it, and was the first one in years. Most of the time I didn't mind, but it was times like these I seriously questioned my own judgment.

"I really don't even know why you take Hypnosis," Evette said, while brushing her thick black hair. "Why anyone would subject themselves to that type of mental torture is beyond me." Amalotte just smirked and turned to help Evette with the ribbon she was attempting to use to tie up her hair.

I ignored the question, instead choosing to pick on her. "You know, I would think that by now you would know how to tie that by yourself. I mean, it's been six years." Evette just rolled her eyes and smiled. "I will not dignify that with a response, seeing as you have not gotten any sleep. But that's the only reason I'm not verbally harassing you right now." She waved her finger at me in a very mock serious way.

Amalotte's smirk grew even wider. "Are you positive there aren't any other reasons?" She wiggled her eyebrows for emphasis. Amandine, who was just coming out of the bathroom, bristled at this. "That is so inappropriate!" Amandine was the proper little miss of our group, and anyone else might think she was a shy Papillonlisse with the way she carried on, but she wasn't. The only thing that could give her away was the lack of a blush on her cheeks.

Papillonlisse blush very easily. Ombrelune don't.

"Honestly," she huffed. "You all act like a bunch of frivolous children sometimes!"

"Ah, but we are!" And with that, Evette swept her sister into a grand hug. Observing Amandine squirm, I was struck with how different the twins were. Amandine had honey golden hair that curled perfectly, pale skin (though not nearly as pale as Amalotte), and eyes that could only be described as navy. Evette, on the other hand, had skin a dark olive, long thick black hair, and their mother's famous amber eyes. Amandine was the epitome of the Ombrelune princess, while Evette only got in because she's almost as good as Amalotte when it comes to revenge plots. I wonder if there was more to it than I knew though…

Gah, too much thought. I need to save myself for Hypnosis.

Evette adjusted her hat one last time and walked over to the doorway where we were all waiting. She shut the door, and Amandine locked it behind her. Off we went. Amandine and Evette had English Language lessons first thing that day, and ahead of us Amandine launched into a scandalous story about another student and the teacher and how she didn't want to be in the same room with him. Somehow, outside my realm of conscious, I could hear Evette trying to calm Amandine down.

Amalotte nudged me with her shoulder, and the violin in her hand smacked my leg. Amalotte was one of the few muggleborns in Ombrelune. Her mother died giving birth to her, so her very strict father, an orchestra director in Paris, was raising her alone. She played the piano, clarinet, a bit of harp, and just every member of the viol family. She was quiet; almost talked to anyone outside our little group. But when she did open her mouth, it was to say something extremely hilarious. She had a knack for planning revenge, one that no one could ever match.

I always thought Amalotte was the most beautiful of all of us. Sure Amandine looked like a prim princess, and Evette had her exotic thing going on, and according to others, I was beautiful in a sharp and striking way (you know, hazel eyes that had unreal gold flecks in them, brown hair with blonde streaks, sharp cheekbones, etc.), but Amalotte was more pure-looking than any of us could ever hope to be.

She had the palest heart-shaped face, and a thick curtain of dark hair that was usually tucked into a high ponytail. Amalotte wasn't as tall as we were- I mean, here were the daughters of Severine du Toit and Anne-Sofie Martin- but was what could be described as full-figured. She had a prominent nose, hazel eyes with more brown than mine, but the cherry on top were her lips: wide, full, and so red so as to appear false. But no, Amandine never even wore makeup. In fact, she used to say that the only man she ever wanted to impress was her music teacher (I always had to resist the urge to ask about her father at that point).

"You never said why you take Hypnosis, you know." Ah, Amalotte. Always knew how to push my buttons. Still does, to this day. "Oh, I completely forgot about that question. You know, what with that thing with Cecile Philidor and the English professor, you know. It surprises me, given she's not the sluttiest girl in school. Now, Harmonie LeBlanc… She so would sleep with a teacher for an R. " It was a pathetic attempt at a subject change, and I knew it. Given Amalotte's smirk, she knew it too. I knew that smirk. It meant she was going to humor me. I seriously wish that smirk would show up more often; Amalotte could be a fricking interrogator one day.

"_Je pensais que ce titre est allé à Chienne Hagne_*."

I giggled. "Non, Chienne is more of a bitch than a slut. It's totally different." The banter went on until we parted to our classes, her to _La Musique*_ and me to _Tirer les Ficelles du Cerveau*_.

○●○●○●

By lunch, I was sure I was going to die. Hypnosis had been an epic fail of a class, and my professor lectured me on being in the right state of mind. If I had the energy, I would have laughed in his face. SDLD was almost as bad. The entire class was hardcore dueling, and naturally we had no breaks. Transfiguration was okay, but it took two tries for me to Transfigure my bluebirds from the air, which is one of the first Transfiguration lessons they teach at us Beauxbatons. Potions was boring; another lecture day. When class let out, I was practically sprinting to lunch. If I could just get some coffee, I thought. I can make it till the end.

This was not to be.

○●○●○

I got there, with Evette huffing and puffing and calling out behind me, and I burst through the doors. Everyone, even the wood nymphs, stopped whatever it was they were doing and stared at me. Then Felice, a plucky young Papillonlisse I rather liked, got up and walked over. To my surprise and discomfort, she pulled me into a hug.

To set the record straight: Ombrelune + hug = serious brain malfunction.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured into my shirt. As she stepped back, other students, teachers, even nymphs came to hug me. "Beauxbatons will stand by you in your time of hurt." "We had no idea, Charlize!" "You are a fighter, how sad you must be inside." On. And on. And on.

At this point I was scared. There were only five people in this world I knew I loved, and three of them were accounted for. Then there was Maire, who was currently living alone at our house in the Valley. She was getting on in years, and it was entirely possible that something could have happened to her. Many people at school knew just how amazing her heavy cakes could be, and most people liked her (probably due to the fact that she sent in cakes for my birthday). The other person was my horse, Petit. I took him to school with me, and his antics earned him places in the hearts of many. He was the unofficial Beauxbatons mascot. It was a familiar and hilarious sight to see him, normally a huge grey Percheron, prance about the ankles of the great Abraxas Beauxbatons housed. I had just seen Petit last night, when I got back. Had Abraxas trampled him earlier?

"W-What?" I managed to stammer out. The crowd at large shrank back away from me. Nervous titters rose from the group.

Maybe this was all a warped joke? I snapped my neck around to look at Evette and Amalotte, who had finally caught up to me. They were wearing twin expressions of confusion. So no… unless they were lying. Wouldn't put it past them.

A Bellefeuille sporting a First Year's beret stepped forward. "Haven't you heard?" she asked, and handed me a Muggle newspaper dated yesterday. The Parisienne. It was folded to the Fashion section, and the big letters at the top read:

**FUNERAL FOR FASHION ICON TODAY  
**

**Anne-Sofie Martin was quite easily one of the most famous faces of our time. She transformed how we look at models, and still today we feel her legacy. Martin was born and raised in Paris, where she began modeling at the age of eight. She became the revolutionary new face of fashion, showing that models could do more than look like mysterious, promiscuous women. She married Robert Greene, an Englishman, and the couple had a daughter before separating twelve years ago. Martin is most famous for her controversial women's rights campaign photos, which are accredited for forcing the world at large to acknowledge**

On and on, the article went, and I looked up at the girl in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Didn't you know?" she asked again. "Your mother." And she pointed to a line at the bottom of the page.

**died on the 27 of May, in a tragic car accident. The driver of the car was heavily**

My mother. And today was the first day of June. Why had no one said anything? Why did no one tell me?

I turned on my heel and strode through the doors. I knew, without really knowing, that my friends would follow. "W-wait!" Evette cried out behind me. Bastards knew and didn't say anything…why should I stop for them?

I shouldn't.

That doesn't mean I didn't.

I whirled around. "Why on EARTH should I stop for YOU? You KNEW and you didn't TELL ME. You acted like there was nothing wrong, and all along I had no idea my MOTHER WAS DEAD!" They made me look like a fool. It was a deeper blow to my pride than you could ever know.

I ran all the way to our dormitory. As soon as I got there, I felt exhausted. I stumbled to a couch, where I slept and slept.

When I woke up again, I had a large white blob waving in front of my face. In my drowsy state, I could see it had a perfect red splotch on it. The more my eyes adjusted, the more obvious it became that it was Amalotte's face. Oops.

I giggled, and Amalotte frowned. "Have you been drinking?" she asked. She looked very skeptical as I shook my head no. "Because that's not the right way to go about drowning your problems effectively," she continued. Only she would criticize me for not "drowning my problems the right way," whatever that means.

"Your face just looked funny," I said by way of explanation. She only frowned deeper. "You don't smell like alcohol… So what were you smoking?" I giggled again, and sat up. "I only fell asleep."

Amalotte's face morphed into something resembling concern. It was completely out of place there. Amalotte needs to be snarky, not… pitying. "Are you okay?" It took those words for me to remember the morning spectacle. I frowned. "No."

"You have to believe me when I say we didn't know. We would have told you." She peered closely at me, no doubt looking for a weakness. "You know that, right?" I sighed. "_Ouais_. But no one said anything. Not even Maire." It was confusing.

Amalotte sat down on the other end of the couch. "Yes, but let's be practical-" she began, and that's when I knew she was about to tell me something I didn't want to hear. 'Let's be practical' was like Amalotte's catchphrase. Mine was 'let's be logical,' and Amandine's was something along the lines of 'act appropriately.' Evette, on the other hand, said things like 'listen to your instincts.' We called her our softie.

Amalotte was still talking. "Maire is a squib living in the middle of the Loire Valley. She doesn't have an owl or any way of communicating with you unless you have initiated a conversation. And who else was going to tell you? Her lawyers?" This was how our friendship worked. Anytime I wanted to be an unproductively wallowing jerk, Amalotte pulled practicality on me and suddenly guilted me out of it. My own thought process was similar to Amalotte's, except she actually counted in what could have gone wrong in the process. That's the difference between logic and practicality. Logic is intelligence through steps. Practicality is logic that counts in the fact that people are stupid.

I relented. "It's true. The lawyers wouldn't have said anything until after her funeral, which I missed." Though Amalotte's train of thought had calmed me down (looking back on it, her words were always harsh to everyone else, but whenever we talk we think it's normal), I was still very angry that I had missed my mother's funeral. The fact of the matter was that I didn't really feel much of anything over my mother's death. I saw her literally once a year or less, since she lived in an apartment in Paris where she threw parties, and we had never been close. It was the fact that no one told me that really angered me. I knew Maire wasn't to blame, but it occurred to me that there was someone in particular who was.

"What time is it?"

Amalotte frowned. I suppose she thought she had just been sent to calm me down before the others set foot in the dorm, and that it had been too easy. "Eight." Good. That means it's seven in London.

"Good."

"Why do you ask?"

I rolled off the couch, straightened myself out, and turned to face her. "I need to see the Headmistress."

I touched up my makeup in the mirror near the door, and walked out of it. I was careful to not look back. As I walked past our dining hall, I heard the soft giggles and melodious song coming from within. My stomach growled loudly. Not today, I thought, looking down at my stomach. Maybe later. I kept on walking, and the sounds of the hall soon faded behind me.

After taking the long trek to the farthest tower, I found myself in the headmistress' quarters. I pushed opened the door to find her writing silently at her desk. "_Oui_, Mademoiselle Martin?" she muttered monotonously, finally looking up at me.

I dipped into my most respectful curtsey, as a way of buttering her up (who am I kidding; she is unbutterable), before replying in my best model student voice.

"_Madame, j'ai besoin de votre permission de quitter le terrain de l'école_.*" I sighed, not really wanting to go through with it at all. "_J'ai besoin de s'occuper des affaires a la maison de mon père*_."

○●○●○●

*I thought that title belonged to Chienne Hagne.

*Music

*Hypnosis; literally, to pull mind tricks

*Madame, I need your permission to leave the school grounds.

*I need to take care of business at my father's house.

○●○●○●

A/N: So, what do we think? Formatting is clearly not my friend. Anne-Sofie's resume is totally fictional, in case you were wondering. Guess who's gonna pop up next chapter? Hint: his name starts with R and ends in obert. And he's the father of a main character. Whose name is Charlize Martin.

Right. Shorter A/Ns. Feed the review box. He's hungry.

Peace and chicken grease,  
Simone


End file.
